Patronum Lacrima
by lafina
Summary: In Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts, strange things are afoot. As Ron and Hermione discover new feelings for each other, Harry discovers new feelings for Ginny, but he is not the only one. Ginny is confused and has problems of her own; Draco needs to get
1. Default Chapter

CHAPTER 1  
  
"Ron?"  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"Shut it." There was a short pause followed by Ron's soft chuckle.  
  
"Not very ladylike," he teased her.  
  
"I'm no lady, and don't you know it!" she retorted.  
  
She was right there; despite looking very fragile, Ron knew that Hermione did not have the reign on her temper that a proper lady should possess, and almost laughed out loud at the memory of her slapping Draco Malfoy across the face when he made the mistake of not taking her seriously.  
  
It was the second week of term, and they were alone in the Seventh Year boy's dorm.  
  
Ron was already late on his homework, and Hermione was helping out, as she had done so often before. But somehow, she found herself enjoying the time she spent alone with Ron more than she used to. And they did spend more time alone together than they had done before; they did all their homework together, and she was always present at his Quidditch practice. Of course, a lot of her friends were on the team, not just Ron, but she would probably not make such an effort to never miss a training-session if it weren't for him, especially since she didn't think Quidditch all that interesting. In fact, she didn't think Quidditch was very interesting at all; there was really only one reason she was present at practice-sessions. And his name was Ron.  
  
Not that she had told him that. Or anybody else for that matter. She liked to keep her emotions private, especially if she was pretty sure that it was her 'problem'. She didn't think that her affections were being returned.  
  
They had been on vacation together: Ron and his family, Harry and Hermione, in the south of France for the last two weeks of the summer holidays. Hermione had spent the beginning of the holidays at home, and had seen neither Ron nor Harry during this time, and she had had butterflies in her stomach at the thought of seeing them again after four weeks; usually they didn't spend that much time apart. Ron had been really sweet to her while they were still at the Burrow; he'd even noticed her new haircut, which had surprised her. But in France, he had flirted notoriously with every French girl that crossed his way, a sure sign for Hermione that he wasn't interested in her.  
  
Deeply disappointed, she had told herself to make the best of their friendship, which was a beautiful thing in itself, they had grown steadily closer over the years, and her friendship with Ron was somehow different to her friendship with Harry, or any girl.  
  
"'Moine?" Ron's voice threw her out of her reverie.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Were you even listening to me?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I said, I'm sure Professor Snape is going to be even more horrible this year. Look at what he's doing to us already! Three feet of parchment about rhinestones by tomorrow. The man's a sadist, and he's letting it all out on us. Somehow I have the feeling he will not be measuring the Slytherin's essays... pray tell me why is that so?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm.  
  
"Experience?" she suggested.  
  
She had stopped telling Harry and him off for making nasty remarks about Snape long ago. Not only because she knew that what they said was true, but telling Ron off for nasty remarks could prove very tiring indeed; as he had grown older, his tongue had become steadily more vicious; he was one of the most quick-witted people in school. Must be a Weasley thing, she thought to herself. Ginny was neither shy nor stupid, and had her own share of biting remarks in store for anyone who provoked her, and Fred and George had, of course, never had any inhibitions whatsoever about telling people their opinion.  
  
"I thought you liked him, Moine," he teased.  
  
She looked indignant.  
  
"No, I just don't blame every bad thing that happens to me on him or Malfoy. It's not the same thing. I'm just as annoyed as you are about him being so unfair to Gryffindor all the time. It's not as if he does it to any other houses - he behaves neutrally at least, towards Ravenclaw. And it's not justified either, because it's not like any other teacher favours us the way he favours the Slytherins..."  
  
"Yeah, you're right, you know. It wouldn't be so bad if McGonagall would act like he does. But she doesn't. The man just drives me mad," he said wearily.  
  
"That's not going to finish your essay for you though," she pointed out.  
  
"I know," he sighed. "You know, I really couldn't be bothered right now."  
  
She looked at him sternly.  
  
"What kind of attitude is that?" she demanded. "You know you've got to do it sometime."  
  
"Yes, but not now."  
  
Her brow furrowed even more, and she looked at him half expectantly, half commandingly, for all the world like Professor McGonagall when she had been waiting to hear what they had to say for themselves after being caught flying to school in Second Year.  
  
"I couldn't care less about Snape, and I couldn't care less about Potions." he added by way of explanation. She opened her mouth to say something, but he stared her down.  
  
She closed her mouth and looked away, but could not resist the gaze she still felt on the back of her head. She turned back towards him, and he was still looking steadily at her. His blue eyes were fixed on her brown ones, and she felt like she was drowning in a deep, clear pool.  
  
His eyes were the same colour as the lake reflecting the sky on a bright summers day, and without even realizing it, she leaned in closer to him. He blinked for the first time since he had started staring at her, and it threw her out of her trance-like state. But she didn't back away, and suddenly his hands were on her shoulders and he pulled her towards him. He brought his mouth down on hers, not hard, but demandingly. There was an impalpable craving behind it that was almost physical, and the question where it came from flitted through her subconscious at the same time as she returned his kiss with the same force and passion.  
  
She was trembling like a volcano about to erupt, and her heart was beating so loud she was sure everyone down in the common room must hear it. She tried to draw back, but he pulled her in close, one arm around her waist and holding her head with one hand. Fire coursed through her veins, and his fingers left a trail of goosebumps on her skin.  
  
Where on earth did he learn to kiss like that, she wondered dizzily. Probably practice...  
  
His tongue explored her mouth and he held her tight, like he never planned on letting her go. She thought her chest might explode from the pressure building up inside it; she was filled with a nervous energy that wasn't under her control. Just like the rest of her body. She was grateful that she was lying on Ron's bed; her knees were weak and she thought her legs would buckle under if they had to support her now. Thunder roared in her ears and she was oblivious to the world around her.  
  
It was Ron who finally broke the kiss, still holding her tight. She felt safe with him near her, calm somehow. Like he was protecting her, even though she wasn't sure from whom or what.  
  
They lay tangled on his bed with their arms around each other, not a bit of space in between. She felt happier than she ever remembered feeling, her cheeks flushed and her heart still thumping as if she'd run a marathon. She lay with her hands clasped around his back, head buried in his chest.  
  
He pulled back from her and looked into her eyes.  
  
"Moine?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Say something." He didn't elaborate, but she didn't have to ask what he meant. She shifted to lie on her back, and stared at the ceiling. He lay next to her, and she took his hand in her smaller one. She could feel his rapid pulse through the sensitive skin at his wrist.  
  
"For lack of a better word to describe my feelings, I'd say I'm happy." She smiled, although she knew he couldn't see it. "Somehow I feel as if this was meant to happen a long time ago. But it didn't, it happened now, which is okay, as long as it happened at all. Please don't tell me you don't feel like that."  
  
He retracted his hand from her grasp and turned around to rest one hand on either side of her shoulders. She looked up into his huge blue eyes and relief flooded her; she could tell from his expression he wasn't going to tell her that he had just made an enormous mistake.  
  
"You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that."  
  
"You didn't seem to be waiting for anything of the sort in France," she mentioned, in what she hoped was a casual tone, but her curiosity was piqued in spite of herself. Had he already felt the same way then that she had?  
  
"That was just sheer force of habit." He grinned sheepishly down at her. "But seriously, I just didn't have the courage to tell you how I felt about you. And I didn't think I would stand a chance with you, so I had to go and break some French hearts to vent my frustration. But you mean so much more to me. And you taste so much better. Like honey," he added as an afterthought.  
  
She looked at him and tried to keep her face straight, but a smile played about the corners of her mouth.  
  
"You taste like honey, honey, tell me can I be your honey?"  
  
She grabbed him around the shoulders, pulling him down towards her, and kissing him passionately. When she let go of him he laughed. "I'll just go right ahead and take that as a 'yes'" he informed her, and bent down to kiss the tip of her nose. She closed her eyes contentedly and simply nodded. There was no need for more words.  
  
Ron was lying awake in his four-poster.  
  
It was 2 am. and he couldn't sleep. He heard Neville's snores from behind the drapes of the bed next to his, but that was not was keeping him up. It was the warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach, like thousands of moths fluttering around inside it. He hadn't been this happy in a long time.  
  
Sure, he'd been flirting and had had several girlfriends in the last year, not like Harry, who was always busy with something. Ron had more time for the simpler things in life, and simple it was indeed, for him; being the youngest of the Weasley boys, he had some kind of a reputation where this kind of thing was concerned. Well, he thought, at least I've carried on the tradition. He smiled wryly. Charlie and Bill were, of course, handsome, Bill to a degree that made even veela heads turn; he'd been going out with Fleur Delacour since she had come to England from France in the holidays after the Triwizard Championship. She had decided not to go back to France and was living with Bill in Egypt, where he was currently on some mission for Gringott's; Ron had never been sure what it was exactly that Bill did for a living.  
  
Percy was the more serious type, but Fred and George had never had a problem with any girl they wanted, being known throughout the school for their sense of humour, cunning and notorious pranks. And good looks, well of course, they were Weasleys. Ron grinned to himself in the dark; he had gained so much confidence in his Sixth Year. He had been Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and they had won the house-cup. Being referred to as 'the Gryffindor Keeper', and not 'that guy that Harry Potter hangs out with' pushed his self-esteem a great deal, as well as the fact that he really was an extraordinary Keeper. He was good; for the first time in his life there was something he could do well, and that nobody outdid him at.  
  
There would always be people like Malfoy, the 'Ice Prince'. But even though Ron hated having to admit that Malfoy looked good, he knew that Malfoy felt the same way about him. Obviously, Ron didn't date Slytherin's, and Draco wouldn't even look at Gryffindor's, but Ravenclaw, at least, was 'mutual territory' where girls were concerned, and Ron had proven himself to Malfoy in that aspect more than once. He loved the look on Malfoy's dumb face when he caught Ron making out with a girl he, Malfoy, had been wooing.  
  
But even more than that, he had loved the look on Hermione's face this afternoon. She was special. His thoughts jumped back to when he had seen her for the first time, on the train to Hogwarts in his First Year. He had been on the train, sitting in a compartment with Harry, and she had come in with Neville, looking for his toad. Somehow she had managed to look pretty, even with her bushy hair and snobby expression. And that was nothing compared to what she was like now.  
  
After saving Hermione from a mountain troll in first year, she, Ron and Harry had become inseparable. The three of them had been through so much... Suddenly Ron felt himself wondering how Harry would take the news.  
  
He had seen for the first time just how pretty Hermione could be when she had dressed up for the Yule ball in Fourth Year, and he hadn't been the only one. She had been dancing with Krum all evening, and Ron had practically cracked under the strain of his jealousy. She shouldn't have been dancing with anyone except him or Harry. Preferably him. He knew how stupid that sounded himself; he knew he didn't own her. But that evening, he had wished he did, because she had been stunningly beautiful there was no way he could have watched her dancing with Krum and kept calm.  
  
He never would have risked endangering their friendship because of his feelings for her, but her place in his heart had grown, taking up more space than a normal friendship would. This was helped by the fact that, to him, she became more beautiful every year. She had a heart-shaped face with regular features, and was quite pretty, but ordinary enough, until she smiled. Then, by some unexpected alchemy, some mysterious redistribution of light and shadow, some subtle shift in arrangement, she became beautiful, completely beautiful. Madam Pomfrey had shortened her teeth in Fourth Year, and in Fifth Year she had started using straightening charms on her hair. Ron wasn't the only one who had noticed it, and Hermione had had her share of boyfriends over the years, even though not near the number of girls Ron had been out with, since she spent a lot more time on studies than he did.  
  
Harry was a lot better at masking his feelings, especially since he had actually had a crush on Cho Chang at the time. This didn't stop him from getting butterflies in his stomach everytime Hermione came near him, though, he had confided to Ron one day. Ron had been very surprised, and just a little shocked. He never would have guessed.  
  
He kept thinking about her face, bathed by the afternoon light that fell in through the dorm window; her light skin and honey-coloured hair. Her brown eyes fringed by lashes that didn't need cosmetic charms; he had heard Lavender talking to Parvati about it: they were definitely envious. And he was enchanted.  
  
But it was her aura that made her special. She had charisma in a way that he'd never seen before, and she radiated intelligence, you could see it in everything she did.  
  
He was sure Harry was over his crush on Hermione by now, because he hadn't mentioned the feelings he'd had towards her during Fifth Year for a while now. Still, you never knew...  
  
Ron decided to tell Harry about everything that had happened first thing in the morning. Well, not everything. But everything he had a right to know. And then he'd figure out what to do in the unlikely case of Harry being jealous. Yes, that sounded like a good plan. With these things on his mind, he finally fell asleep, feeling very much content and at peace with the world.  
  
Hermione lay in her bed and enjoyed the rays of light falling through the window onto her face.  
  
She stayed like that for a while, basking in the peacefulness of the world so early in the morning and thinking about Ron. She had often wondered why she felt so attracted to him. He was good-looking, but not a 'pretty boy' or even bursting with sex appeal, come to think about it. It was the realness and honesty about him that she loved. It was written on his face like a script. If he were a woman, he would never have to wear rouge. He had that natural redness on his cheekbones. Although he was a bit on the thin side, it was his height she liked, and the way his blue eyes smiled and changed instantly with his moods.  
  
Slowly the other girls in her dorm, first Lavender, then Parvati, then the rest of them woke up and started dressing and getting their stuff ready. Hermione got up too, wondering how Ron would behave when she saw him this morning. She had not told anyone that they were going out yet, not even Harry, even though she was sure Ron would have mentioned it to him by now. No one had seen them in his room the day before, and she hadn't thought it necessary to run around shouting it out loud to all passers-by.  
  
She put her books, ink and parchment and quill in her bag and left for breakfast. She entered the Great Hall looking for Ron or Harry, but they weren't there yet, so she sat down next to Neville instead.  
  
She buttered herself a piece of toast, and dug in with great gusto. Suddenly someone put their hands over her eyes, obscuring her vision.  
  
"And a lovely morning to you, too." Ron's voice was abnormally cheerful; he was usually grouchy in the mornings. She took his hands in hers and turned around to give him a small kiss before he sat next to her. Neville goggled at them.  
  
"Gee, Neville, I hope your face doesn't get stuck like that," Ron said absently while reaching for the breadbasket.  
  
"Are you two going out?" Neville asked suspiciously.  
  
"Why, I do believe we are." Ron grinned his broadest grin at Neville, who still looked slightly baffled.  
  
"How come I didn't know?"  
  
"Because I only decided on it yesterday." Ron winked at Hermione. She poked him in the ribs and pecked his cheek.  
  
"Don't get cheeky with me." She grinned mischievously. "What went wrong with your upbringing? I think I'm going to have to start over."  
  
"Fred and George's influence."  
  
"I might have guessed." She squeezed his hand. He filled his plate with toast, pancakes and a blueberry muffin. Hermione sighed. Ron was one of those people who could eat non-stop (which he did) and never get fat. He was probably underweight. It was so unfair.  
  
Harry had appeared shortly after Ron, looking as disheveled as he always did before lunch (his hair seemed to grow tidier the course of the day, in contrast to Hermione's, which always turned slightly frizzy by the end of the afternoon). He did not look quite as flabbergasted as Neville had upon seeing them kiss, and Hermione suspected that Ron had told him all about... well, almost everything; not only girls felt the urge to communicate... or gossip. She grinned to herself and returned to her breakfast. 


	2. Patronum Lacrima Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2  
  
Neville grew tired of staring at Ron and Hermione after a while, though, and stopped staring in favour of loading his plate with an ungodly amount of food, and proceeding to devour it at a tremendous rate.  
  
The only person who seemed unfazed by the fact that Ron and Hermione were now an item was Ginny. She had her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands, staring off in the direction of the Slytherin table.  
  
After they had all eaten (this taking notoriously long, as both Harry and Ron had second helpings of everything) they went off to class. They had the first period together, since all three of them had transfiguration as a N.E.W.T. subject, along with Lavender, Dean, Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch- Fletchley and three other Ravenclaw's. There were no Slytherins in their Transfiguration class, which suited Harry, Ron and Hermione fine. Even diplomatic Hermione had trouble with the more difficult Slytherins; some of them just weren't compatible with the rest of the Hogwarts students.  
  
Transfiguration was one of Hermione's favourite subjects, and she knew that this was true for Ron and Harry as well. Professor McGonagall was strict, but a good and fair teacher, and her lessons were interesting. Hermione had far more subjects than Ron and Harry though, since she had started so many in third year and had dropped just enough subjects to not have to be forced to use a time-turner to be able to attend all her classes. Although all three of them were attending N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration, Potions, Defense against the Dark Arts and Charms, and Hermione took Arithmancy and Study of Ancient Runes, as well as a few other subjects, while Ron and Harry only had Care of Magical Creatures.  
  
"Good morning, class. Today we will be continuing from last lesson. Would anyone like to revise what we did last time? Yes, Mister Longbottom?"  
  
Neville had taken Transfiguration for lack of other subjects he was able to take; Snape would never have accepted him into N.E.W.T. level Potions, it was something of a miracle that both Harry and Ron had managed to qualify. The only thing Neville was really good at was Herbology, but of course, he wasn't allowed to restrict his selection to only one subject.  
  
"We were talking about Transfiguration of objects made of silver."  
  
"Quite right. Who can tell me why this is something special? Miss Granger?"  
  
"The Transfiguration of objects made of silver is difficult because silver is a magical substance. It has magical properties that need to be taken into account before it can be Transfigured."  
  
"Very good. When Transfiguring objects made of silver, you need to be extremely careful or there will be repercussions. If your concentration lapses, the power of your spell might rebound, and that could be very nasty indeed. I hope you have all read the pages I assigned. We will start with some smaller, not very powerful objects. Can someone tell me some shapes that give silver power? Yes, Miss Granger?"  
  
"Circles and crosses."  
  
"Very good, Miss Granger. Does anyone know why one would want to change the material that an object is made of?" She nodded at Lavender.  
  
"To make them less dangerous, or effective. Something magical made of silver loses its magic its it's turned into copper for example."  
  
"Very good. Five points for Gryffindor. This is only true for silver, and the spell is quite difficult. But seeing you all made it into my N.E.W.T. course, we will be doing very advanced magic this year, so please don't let your attention lapse at any time during this year – you will need everything I have to teach you. Now, I will give you all some silver cutlery to Transfigure into copper. If you all manage that, we will move on to jewellery, bangles and such. This will be a lot harder, given the circular shape. Now, watch as I show you how to do it: one, two, three, aurorum ferrato!" The silver fork in front of her turned a metallic orange.  
  
"To work, please."  
  
She handed out some forks and spoons, and all around the room there were echoes of "Aurorum ferrato!" Hermione managed to turn her spoon into pure copper on the second try; Ron was having a bit more trouble:  
  
"Mister Weasley, this is a silver-copper alloy. Concentrate!"  
  
But at the end of the period he still had not been able to banish the last traces of silver from his fork.  
  
He left the classroom muttering to himself. Hermione came up behind him and put her arms around him.  
  
"Come on, you'll get the hang of it – we just started on it today." She removed her arms from around his waist and put her small hand in his larger one. Harry fell into step beside them as they walked along the corridors to Professor Flitwick's classroom together.  
  
"I hope Flitwick's in a better mood today than he was last time," he said.  
  
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "The homework he gave us was really foul – theory is necessary, I know. Constant vigilance!" he barked, imitating their former DaDA teacher, professor Moody. "But," he continued sarcastically, "I find five pieces of parchment about the properties of preservation charms and their use in Ancient Egypt a trifle superfluous. I had trouble staying awake reading the book – my eyes kept unfocusing. I have rarely been confronted with anything more boring..." He yawned demonstratively and Harry laughed.  
  
"Please don't say that to his face – you're much too frank as it is, he can't deal with it. Poor Flitwick, his self-esteem is low enough without trampling around on it." He grinned at Ron, who pretended to be offended.  
  
"Come on – I'm not that callous! You sound like you're talking about Malfoy! He's the one that tramples on people's self-esteem, not me!"  
  
Harry let his jaw drop in alleged shock.  
  
"Okay, I take it back... there's nothing more insulting than being compared to that slimy git!" he declared dramatically. Hermione sighed, and muttered something to herself that sounded suspiciously like "So immature sometimes...".  
  
After lunch Hermione went off to Arithmancy, while Harry and Ron set out towards Hagrid's hut for a double period of CoMC.  
  
Hagrid emerged from his cabin carrying a large box, and everyone craned their necks in an attempt to see what was inside, as to be able to scoot back towards the back of the group quickly if they found it necessary. But their fears were not justified, at least not today. Inside the box were about ten silvery-green lizards. Harry had thought they were small at first, but upon getting a better look at them, he saw they were actually much bigger, now that was strange...  
  
"Now who've yeh can tell me what these nifty lil' creatures are?" Hagrid beamed around at all of them. Ron's hand went up, much to Harry's, and obviously Hagrid's, surprise.  
  
"They're mokes. They can shrink at will – and if they're not shrunk, then they grow to about 10 inches. Their skin can shrink as well, even if they're not wearing it anymore, which makes things made of it hard to steal."  
  
"Good on yeh, Ron. Five points for Gryffindor. O' course – yeh're right about the lizards and their skins - that's why purses an' pouches an' the like made of moke-skin are very prized. They're practically thief-proof. Now, I want y'all to come here quickly, to startle 'em, like, and watch how they shrink when they think they're in danger."  
  
"I'm getting you a moke-skin purse for Christmas," Harry told Ron later.  
  
"Yeah, I'll get you one, too!" Ron decided.  
  
They spent the rest of the lesson watching the mokes shrinking and growing, feeding them, and drawing up diagrams, labeling them, making charts of what they ate. Mokes weren't terribly interesting, but Harry enjoyed the hands- on quality of the lesson. He always found that he remembered the things he worked out himself a lot better than notes he just copied down onto parchment. He had always wondered how Hermione had managed to stay awake throughout every single History of Magic lesson and take notes; he himself had always dozed off ten minutes into the lesson, rising from his stupor only when Professor Binns dismissed the class, and not remembering a single thing that had been said.  
  
Ron savoured the fresh air, and he and Harry were reluctant to go back inside after CoMC. They were not looking forward to diminishing the pile of homework that awaited them, and, two hours later, they hadn't made much progress.  
  
"I'm famished," Ron told Harry. "Let's go have dinner."  
  
"You're always famished," Harry pointed out. "But since I'm hungry too, it's not a bad idea. I just finished my Charms essay, so I'm all-clear." Ron shot him a look; he hadn't finished writing down all the important points of the Protego Charm.  
  
"I'll copy it from you later."  
  
When they entered the Great Hall they saw Hermione already sitting at the Gryffindor table; they hadn't seen her all afternoon, Ron guessed she had been in the library. She was sitting next to Lavender, who was in her Study of Ancient Runes class. They were chatting animatedly about something Celtic – that was all Ron managed to decipher from the flow of words that made no real sense to him, since he didn't know the first thing about ancient runes. He sat down between her and Harry and gave her a small kiss on the cheek. She broke off in mid-sentence and turned to face him, a beautiful smile lighting up her features.  
  
"Hey, you." She waved. "Haven't seen you around for a while – how was your afternoon?" She shot a glance at Lavender. "No, tell me later - I'm keeping someone waiting. Sorry!"  
  
He raised one eyebrow at her; a gesture that she tried to mirror, but failed miserably.  
  
"I'm going to have to ask you how you do that some other time – right now I'll be getting back to my absorbing discussion about hieroglyphic markings found on some old stones in Cornwall."  
  
"Ah. I don't think I'll be joining that discussion. Much to your disappointment, I know. I'm afraid it has too much of a schoolwork air to it for me to be discussing it after hours," he teased her.  
  
"Oh, Ron, don't be obnoxious," she told him, but gave him a kiss and turned back to Lavender again anyway. Ron grinned at Harry and reached for the soup-tureen and breadbasket. Something about Hogwarts Ron had always held in high regard was variety and diversity of the food; the school employed a large number of house-elves, and they outdid themselves at every meal. As much as Ron loved his mother's cooking, the food at school, well – there was just so much of it! The tables were jam-packed at every meal: porridge, eggs and bacon, toast, pastries, pancakes, sausages, hash-browns and a large selection of cereal just for breakfast.  
  
He took full advantage of being surrounded by so much food; it was a miracle that he didn't weigh three tons; judging by the amount he ate, he should have been Dudley-sized.  
  
"Stop gorging yourself like that – you're going to explode," Harry said severely. Harry wasn't picky himself, but even he didn't eat as much as Ron did, though you never would have guessed, and people not used to it were genuinely shocked when they saw what Ron could eat at any one time.  
  
"No I'm not," Ron replied absently, and kept eating. When he was finished, Harry and Hermione exchanged mock-exasperated looks, and they all went up to the common room together.  
  
"Antipodean Opaleye," Hermione said.  
  
"Right you are," the Fat Lady told them, and swung aside to let them in. Hermione had already done all her homework, but stayed in the common room to help Ron and Harry. While they worked, she talked to Ginny, who had come up from dinner shortly after them.  
  
Ginny was in her Fifth Year now - one year younger than Ron and the last of the Weasley-children at Hogwarts. She was a chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch-team, which was made up of her, Nathalie Thomas and Cassie Jordan as chasers, Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper as beaters, Harry as seeker and Ron as keeper. Harry had been seeker for the team since his first year at Hogwarts; most of the others had only joined the team the previous year. They were still pretty good though, and Harry hoped they would manage to win the cup again. He had been promoted to team-captain, and was busy working out game-strategies almost every spare minute he had.  
  
He didn't want to be beaten by the Slytherins again; they were insufferable enough as it was. Harry had the feeling that the older they grew, the more abhorrent most of them became. There were, of course, exceptions, but the majority of the Slytherins were just... horrible. Their usual behavior made Harry want to land a punch right in the middle of that obnoxious smirk they all wore. It was another thing that was quintessentially Slytherin; he was sure no one else could smirk like that. Now there was something for him to ponder on a long, rainy evening...  
  
The news that Hermione and Ron were now dating spread through the school like a wildfire; a lot of people who didn't know her personally thought she had been dating Harry, having seen her always hanging around him; they knew him of course.  
  
She was famous at Hogwarts in her own right, being top of her year, and one of the smartest students in school. But for people who didn't know either of them it was easy to misinterpret their relationship.  
  
Both Ron and Hermione received many claps on the back when the other wasn't around; Ron was one of the most coveted boys at school, and Hermione's name usually came up in the discussion of who the prettiest girls in school were; other names that fell were Ginny Weasley and Blaise Zabini, as well as Cho Chang and the Patil twins.  
  
"Good on ya, Ron," Dean told him when he heard the news. He'd had a crush on Hermione himself in Fifth Year, but was over it now, and genuinely happy for Ron. Ron even got a letter from Fred and George:  
  
Dearest Ron, We wish to congratulate you on your newest achievement – it's good to see you carrying on the family tradition! We must also proclaim our approval of the chosen individual. It was inevitable that the two of you would eventually discover your true feelings for each other. That or the infamous Weasley-charm is finally working on her. We hope you'll visit us sometime soon. Greetings to Harry and Hermione - Gred and Forge.  
  
Ron snorted and grinned in spite of himself. The letter sounded so much like something Percy might send if he was feeling gracious, that when Percy did actually send a letter that sounded exactly like the one Fred and George had written, Ron had to laugh, even though normally there was no love lost between the youngest Weasley boy and his know-it-all brother.  
  
What surprised Ron about the twins letter (even more than the fact that words like 'proclaim' actually existed in their vocabulary) was that they thought it was about time he and Hermione got together. He repeated the phrase in his head – it was inevitable that the two of you would eventually discover your true feelings for each other. Had they already known about this, maybe even since the summer holidays, and not told him? Stupid prats, Ron thought fondly and stuffed the letter into his pocket.  
  
Hermione awoke on September 19th with a prickling sensation in her stomach; today was her 16th birthday. Lavender was already awake and squealed when she saw Hermione stirring.  
  
"Happy birthday!" she shouted almost directly into Hermione's ear. Hermione moaned.  
  
"Sweet sixteen," Parvati grinned, handing a very neatly wrapped gift over Hermione with a little flourish. "It's from both of us." Hermione unwrapped it carefully, trying to tear the paper as little as possible. Parvati grinned; the words "That's so typical of you, Hermione!" were written all over her face. They had bought a present for her together; a very fancy, deep orange quill made of a fwooper feather.  
  
"Thanks so much!" Hermione's appreciation was genuine, because even though most people would have put 'quill' in the same category as 'socks' where presents were concerned, she was different. There was no use in giving her anything ornamental or chintzy; while Parvati's and Lavender's bedside tables were decorated with tacky picture-frames and such, Hermione's part of the room was nice, but demure. She had pictures of her friends and family in carved wooden frames, and a few plain, cream-coloured candles on her bedside table, and books on every available surface. She was not impolite enough to ever show she didn't like a present she had received, but she did indeed get a lot of gifts that she had no use for, simply because people were unwilling to give her anything "school-related", as they called it, for her birthday or Christmas, and insisted on forcing things upon her that, in her opinion, only cluttered up her space.  
  
She dressed and went down to the Great Hall for breakfast, flanked by Parvati and Lavender who told everyone who didn't already know it, that it was her birthday today. She was blushing furiously by the time she reached the Gryffindor table and gratefully sat down between Ron and Harry. Ron had magicked a bowl of porridge, so that on its surface it bore the words: Happy Birthday, with much love, Ron. She smiled at him and gave him a kiss. Then she turned around and hugged Harry.  
  
"We've got something for you, but we're not giving it to you here," he told her.  
  
Back in the common room, Ron and Harry went straight up to their dorm, and Hermione followed. She dropped on Ron's bed, and he held her eyes closed as Harry rummaged around in his drawers.  
  
"You can look now," he told her.  
  
Ron took his hands off her eyes. Harry was holding a small box of dark blue velvet. The box alone looked expensive.  
  
She took it, feeling the silky-soft velvet under her fingers. She was very practical, but contrary to her nature, velvet was one of her favourite fabrics; she loved the heavy, expensive material. She opened the box and gasped.  
  
A perfectly symmetrical black opal, bordered in silver, on a delicate silver chain. The chain was curious; the links weren't simply circular, each was doubled back on itself like an exquisite little "s", and yet so delicate, as if it had been spun from a gossamer thread of silver-plated silk. On the silver bordering of the opal pendant, magic symbols of protection charms were engraved.  
  
There were earrings, too. They were long and dangly and very fine; each consisted of an opal with two smaller ones suspended from it by a chain matching the one of the pendant.  
  
"Wow," she breathed. "That's so beautiful."  
  
"The pendant is from Ron, the earrings are from me," Harry told her. She hugged each of them in turn, when suddenly Dean came barging in. He caught sight of the box.  
  
"Woah – that's some seriously cool jewellery!"  
  
She agreed with him, and silently wondered how Harry and Ron could afford something so obviously expensive. But then again, Harry had such a huge amount of money, and could probably afford to have bought the entire shop, no matter where the pendant had come from. And she certainly wasn't going to admonish him for giving her something so beautiful. She thanked them again, and blushed when they both smiled at her.  
  
"You know we both love you, Hermione. You may be Ron's girlfriend now, but you're still my best friend, and I hope that's not going to change. You're that important to us, and you're worth so much more. Your friendship–" He sneaked a glance at Ron and grinned, "is priceless." 


	3. Patromun Lacrima Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3  
  
Weeks passed without incident, and before Harry noticed how much time had passed, there were Halloween decorations all over the castle. He marveled at how time could sometimes move so slowly, thick and viscous, and other times fly by, and he had no idea where the days had gone, or what he'd been doing the entire time.  
  
The decorations were, of course, marvelous. Carved pumpkins sat on every surface, and black garlands wrapped themselves around the banisters, criss- crossing through the Entrance Hall above the heads of students and teachers. Harry saw Peeves get tangled in them more than once.  
  
There were decorative, but very real, cobwebs in corners and crannies, with very real, hairy spiders to match. Ron wasn't pleased.  
  
As usual, the Halloween feast took place at 7pm. The feast was always memorable, and there was even more food than usual, which satisfied Ron.  
  
Harry was looking out of the window as a large raven came flying in. He stared; any mail-delivery during the feast would have been strange, but this one was especially unusual. Hogwarts students did not usually receive post by raven.  
  
He watched it fly over the tables, which were covered in black silk table- cloths and laid in silver. There were thousands of black, ornately carved candles in candelabras on the tables, which Harry thought looked like withered tendrils of some exotic plant; sepulchral yet weirdly captivating. The overall effect was nothing short of gloomy.  
  
The raven landed on the Slytherin table in front of Draco Malfoy, gracefully avoiding the candles.  
  
Well, well, thought Harry.  
  
Looking at Malfoy, he marvelled at how well the pale boy fitted into the scene before him, and it occurred to him that this was probably what it looked like in Malfoy's house.  
  
Only because Harry had been watching Malfoy did he notice the way he jumped upon reading the letter, and the ugly sneer that appeared on his face as he rolled it up and stuffed it into his pocket. Ron hadn't seen.  
  
"Look at him being smug," he said to Harry.  
  
"What?" Harry said distractedly.  
  
"He's probably feeling vainglorious because his dad's got a tame raven."  
  
"Vainglorious?" Hermione echoed.  
  
"Well, yeah..."  
  
"Do you even know what that word means, Ron?" she scoffed.  
  
"Of course I know what it means!" he said, sounding hurt.  
  
Hermione tactfully let the matter rest.  
  
As it grew steadily colder, it also became dark much earlier, something that Harry wasn't very pleased about. The Quidditch season was steadily approaching, and the upcoming match against Slytherin was crowding out all other thoughts.  
  
Gryffindor had never lost a game to Slytherin, but this was Harry's first game as Team Captain, and he was feeling apprehensive. He booked the pitch whenever he could, making his team play in every weather because, as he told them, they didn't know what the weather conditions would be during the match.  
  
"Come on, Harry," Cassie complained, looking through the common-room window at the thunderstorm outside. "We're not going to be playing in an electrical storm! I can deal with rain. Yeah, playing in the rain is feasible, but you are not getting me onto the Quidditch field now! Look – there's lightning! Do you want us struck by lightning?"  
  
"She's got a point you know," Ginny told him. "None of us are going to be much good to you during a game if we're buried in a Pigwidgeon-sized coffin."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, but he saw that he was fighting a losing battle. His team didn't usually refuse his orders, but when they did they were just as stubborn as he was. He knew they weren't going to give in.  
  
They're right, I guess, he thought. Practicing Quidditch in an electrical storm wasn't actually a very sane idea.  
  
Still, the thought of the match made him extremely nervous.  
  
"Mornin' Harry. Good that you're awake, it's our big day, you know," Dean called in voice that sounded cheerful, but there wasn't a trace of a smile on his face.  
  
Harry moaned and buried his head in his pillow; he felt as if he'd slept for seconds only. He had been so anxious about the match that he could hardly get to sleep the night before, and after he had finally dozed off, he had twisted and turned all night.  
  
Dean threw a pillow at Harry, who extracted himself from his bedclothes under protest. Dean looked as anxious as he felt; this was important for all of them.  
  
Slytherin used to be a loner-house, with all students in it keeping to their own, but as they grew older, the four houses had grown closer. There were a lot of inter-house friendships, but Gryffindor and Slytherin had never really warmed to each other. Even as Slytherin had become less aloof towards the other houses (though a lot of Slytherins still avoided friendship with Muggle-borns), the competition between the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams had grown more fierce.  
  
There were no friendships between the members of the opposing teams.  
  
Harry was dreading the match because of this, and because Slytherin were notoriously competitive, to the point of purposely cheating. Had they been playing football, Harry was sure they would have worn shoes with metal spikes and kicked everyone in the shins.  
  
Harry wanted to win at almost every cost; what he was prepared to pay didn't extend to cheating and fouling.  
  
Another reason he wasn't looking forward to playing Slytherin was the fact that Gryffindor hadn't lost a match to them as long as Harry had been on the team. The Slytherins were tetchy about it, and since Malfoy had been announced Team Captain, they had definitely gotten better. He had assembled people who could actually play; in contrast to the former captains, who had gone for size over skills. The team now consisted of Malfoy as seeker, Malcolm Baddock as keeper and Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass and Adrian Pucey as chasers. The only two that didn't fit the revised profile of capable, streamlined players were Crabbe and Goyle, who served as beaters. They were the last two gorillas on the team now, though Harry knew that as beaters, they weren't half bad. The thought sent chills down his spine.  
  
He knew he'd be inconsolable if he lost this match, and no one outside his house would understand. It would all be put down to his arrogance, because Gryffindor could still win the House Cup if they lost to Slytherin. But that was not what rankled Harry; it was his dislike of the Slytherins in general, and Malfoy in particular, that made him want to win this match so much.  
  
Ron interrupted Harry's train of thought by announcing that he was going to breakfast.  
  
"If you're coming, hurry up, because if you plan on keeping up that tempo, I'm not waiting for you," he told Harry, referring to his getting dressed. He had been sitting on his bed in his boxer shorts with his trousers in his hands for about ten minutes.  
  
"Uh, yeah, I'm coming," he said absently, as he fished for a clean shirt in his drawers.  
  
He wasn't much more attentive at breakfast. He missed his mouth with his fork full of scrambled eggs, and Ron almost choked with laughter.  
  
"Come on Harry, eat up. You're never going to find the snitch in your present state of mind – it could fly up your nose and you won't even notice."  
  
Harry glared at him.  
  
"Oh come on, dry up for God's sake, or you're not going to tap your full potential. That's like giving Malfoy the snitch. On a golden platter."  
  
"He's right, you know, and all this tension – you're going to fall off your broom if you don't relax!" Nathalie said as she got up, stood behind him and started to massage his shoulders. "Anyway – aren't you supposed to be giving us a pep talk? Not the other way around..."  
  
"Alright already. Just let off of me!" he said, but he wasn't really angry and they knew it. He felt the tension in his shoulders uncoil a little, and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't that he didn't work well under pressure; it was just that waiting for something bad to happen was worse than something bad actually happening. Usually, anyway.  
  
After a short but quite effective pep talk (one of Harry's strengths), both teams walked out onto the pitch, names being called by Colin Creevey, who was now commentating instead of Lee Jordan. Harry thought McGonagall was more unhappy about Lee being gone than she let on: she didn't have to admonish Colin for colourful language, but he just didn't have Lee's vigour and enthusiasm.  
  
Harry and Malfoy were standing in the middle of the pitch, Madam Hooch waiting for them to shake hands. Neither of them wanted to take the first step towards the other, their mutual hate showing in Harry's tense posture and Malfoy's cold attitude. Harry was feeling extremely small in the centre of the huge pitch, and it seemed to him as if the stands were comprised of people wearing green and silver. Malfoy, on the other hand seemed very much at ease, and it was finally him who took the first step. Harry also walked forward, reluctantly, and grasped Malfoy's hand, trying to break it. Lord, he's strong, Harry thought in shock.  
  
Neither wanted to give in, and they only let go when Madam Hooch impatiently blew her whistle.  
  
Fourteen players flew up into the air, and the apprehension was almost tangible. The fouling on the part of Slytherin started almost immediately, and grew worse as Gryffindor's lead solidified. The game was rapid, fast- paced, and quite brutal. Nathalie was almost hit in the face by Goyle's bat as he 'accidentally' missed the bludger in close proximity of her nose. Adrian Pucey went straight for the goal post Ron was guarding, and stopped only when Ron didn't budge one inch and took the end of Pucey's broomstick to the stomach.  
  
Madam Hooch's whistle sounded loud and shrill over the frosty grounds.  
  
"Mr. Pucey, a broomstick is not a battering-ram!" she screamed at him. "The Quaffle to Gryffindor!"  
  
The game grew steadily more aggressive, but Gryffindor seemed to thrive on the action. They were leading 130 - 20 when Harry spotted the snitch. He started racing towards it, but Goyle cut across him, and he had to swerve into a nose-dive to avoid crashing headlong into him. When he came back up, panting, the snitch was gone. The only consolation was that Malfoy seemed to have lost it as well.  
  
Harry knew that if Malfoy caught the snitch now, Slytherin would still win the game. He hoped Gryffindor would expand their lead a bit more before the snitch appeared again. He flew around the pitch, and almost screamed in frustration as Slytherin scored a goal. But Gryffindor didn't let down for long. Nathalie was in a rage like Harry had seldom seen her, and when she had the Quaffle; she deliberately rammed Goyle as she was flying towards the goal post. She was the better flier, and almost knocked him off his broom. She dodged Crabbe's bludger, and put the Quaffle through the golden goal-hoop.  
  
Cassie and Ginny pushed harder as well, and Gryffindor was leading 180 - 30 when something golden caught Harry's eye. The snitch was hovering near Malfoy, who was looking in the other direction. Harry was about 20 feet from him.  
  
He spurted towards Malfoy, but hadn't quite reached him, when the other boy turned around and saw Harry speeding towards him. Harry heard a faint cheering in the background, but didn't pay any attention to it as he saw Malfoy level his gaze at the snitch. He urged his broom to go faster, but Malfoy grabbed the snitch out of the air two seconds before Harry crashed into him.  
  
"Potter! Watch it, you clumsy git." Malfoy said, detangling himself from Harry's cloak and looking very pleased with himself.  
  
"Gryffindor wins!" Colin called out. Harry just barely registered it.  
  
"What?" he mumbled, but was already encircled by his team, who crowded around him, beaming.  
  
"Harry, we did it!" Ginny shouted. "I scored a goal like, two seconds before Malfoy got the snitch! We've won by ten points!"  
  
Malfoy, still just behind Harry, looked as if he had been told that Christmas was cancelled. Harry started his descent, his team following his lead. Malfoy flew to the other end of the pitch, where the Slytherins were forming a huddle. Probably planning something nasty, Harry thought.  
  
Hermione ran across the pitch to meet them, and fell around Ron's neck as soon as he was within grabbing-distance.  
  
"I can't believe you did it, you did it, you did it!" she screeched. Her hair was turning frizzy and she was red in the face. Her excitement practically bordered on hysteria, and she clung to Ron's neck with a dangerously tight grip.  
  
"Urgh, 'Moine, gerroff," Ron said, detangling himself and massaging his throat. "I've taken enough beating today. Anyway, thank Ginny – she scored the winning goal. And don't pass out on me, you're even more excited than Harry is."  
  
When they got back to the common-room, Dennis Creevey had already been to the kitchens and scrounged enough food for a small feast from the house elves. The Gryffindors celebrated all night, and didn't quiet down even after Professor McGonagall had come and gone three times. Sometime around 2 o'clock, she looked in once more, and muttered to herself as she left. She didn't appear again.  
  
Hufflepuff played Ravenclaw in the last week of term, three days before the holidays. Ravenclaw won by twenty points, and the match marked the beginning of the holidays. The last two days of classes weren't taken seriously, and most teachers didn't give any homework. Both the outcome of the match and the lack of homework suited Ginny fine.  
  
Molly and Arthur were visiting Fleur and Bill in Egypt, so she and Ron were staying at school over Christmas. So was Hermione; her parents were going skiing again, and she had decided that it definitely wasn't her kind of thing. She probably also wanted to start revising for her N.E.W.T.s, Ginny thought. That would be so like her. Harry, of course, put his name down on the list of students who were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, like every year. Where else would he have gone?  
  
They enjoyed the quiet of the castle and took advantage of the common-room being so empty: there was one first year she didn't know, and a couple of third years; other than that, they were the only Gryffindors left.  
  
Ron and Ginny played a lot of chess, which she enjoyed, as they didn't often have time to do it when school was on. Harry often sat in front of the fire, not doing anything in particular, just staring.  
  
"I think he needs a girlfriend," Ron said to Hermione, throwing Ginny what he obviously thought to be a covert look.  
  
When Ron and Hermione went off to the Seventh Year's girl's dorm (which was now empty of occupants save Hermione, who had magicked the stairs so Ron could walk up them without being dumped back into the common-room, making it the perfect place for makeout sessions), Ginny usually went to the library.  
  
The common-room was nice, but Ginny loved the library; she loved being surrounded by books (one of the few things she had in common with Hermione), and the heavy oak paneling and leather-bound volumes gave the place a very comfortable atmosphere. There was a cluster of armchairs and tables in a kind of clearing in the middle of the library, where she sometimes curled up for hours on end.  
  
She was reading Gemstones: Facts and Folklore, and was so engrossed that she didn't notice someone enter the library and sit down at the other end of the cluster of armchairs. Only when she had finished the chapter did she look up, and jump.  
  
Draco Malfoy was sitting in an armchair across from her, long legs crossed in front of him, a small book in his lap.  
  
"I didn't think you'd be here over the holidays," she told him, in a kind of voice that indicated she hadn't been thinking about him at all, but he seemed unfazed by her tone.  
  
"You think?"  
  
That stung.  
  
"Only when it's necessary, which isn't usually the case around you!"  
  
He didn't answer that, just returned to his book.  
  
What is wrong with him? she wondered. She used to storm off to her room and cry for hours about some vicious remark he had made; now she usually had the last word. Does he let me win? Or does he simply think it's beneath him to keep an argument up? Then why does he keep starting them? I just don't get it.  
  
Draco was reading again, and she returned to her book as well. She didn't notice him sneaking glances at her over the top of his book. Her hair looks like fire, he thought. He had often wondered about red hair; obviously it didn't repel girls like he thought it did. Ron Weasley had snatched more than one potential girlfriend from right under his, Draco Malfoy's, nose. But Ginny's hair was a different matter completely. It was several shades darker than Ron's, but more vivid. It looked more like red than orange, a colour that Draco despised. He thought her hair was captivating, cascading down her back like a river of lava; he wanted to run his fingers through it. A stray tendril fell into her face and when she brushed it away, he studied her hands; creamy white skin and long, painted nails. How does she play Quidditch with nails like that? But play she did; he remembered the little challenge all too well.  
  
She had won, and he been preparing himself for verbal abuse. Nothing had happened. He had seen the Weasel watching him as Ginny was carried from the field, his expression one of hate, contempt and malicious joy. But unlike her brother, Ginny had not gloated at all. She hadn't come up to him to wallow in her victory and put him down in front of everyone. She hadn't even talked about it, or talked to him, unless he started some petty argument or dispute.  
  
He had been trying to get a reaction from her since then, get her attention, but nothing he could say or do reached her, it just left her cold. He tried to get her hacked off at him; anything to have an excuse to talk to her, but she always bested him. And when he had nothing more to say, she walked off. Just like that. No putting him down or stomping around on his ego; sometimes he wondered if she was admirably self-restrained for not putting him down when she had the chance, or if she knew how her attitude towards him undid him. He was used to people not liking him, but being practically ignored gave him a weird feeling. He had found someone who equaled him in wit and self-composure, and it confused him.  
  
He loved putting people down and watching them lose their cool, like Harry. He was so easy to provoke; it gave Draco satisfaction. But Ginny never lost her cool, and it caused a reaction in him he didn't know how to handle: his stomach knotted up and his palms became sweaty; no one had made him feel like that before.  
  
Screw this, he thought. I'm leaving.  
  
She had not heard him arrive, but she heard him leave. All his stealth had left him and he looked extremely ruffled. She was startled. What's gotten into him, I wonder? 


	4. Patronum Lacrima Chapter 4

Ginny returned to the common room and found it empty. She considered, for a moment, trying to find Hermione, but discarded the idea quickly. Ron wasn't around either, and she didn't want to walk in on them making out. Eeeeew, she thought. Ginny was neither ignorant nor frigid, but the thought of seeing her own brother in the throws of passion was something she hoped she'd never have to deal with  
  
She curled up in an armchair in front of the fire, glad t have some time alone with her thoughts. Madam Pince was away for the holidays, so no one was allowed to check books out of the library, one reason why Ginny was there so often. But why had Malfoy been there? He had brought his own book – he could have read that in his common room. Would have suited me fine, Ginny thought. And why the hell didn't he go home for Christmas? He used to wind Harry up about that, and now he's here himself...  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted by Ron and Hermione, who were coming down from the girls' dorm and trying to look as if nothing had happened. Way to go, thought Ginny. Like none of us notice.  
  
She was pretty sure she knew what they had been doing; if they'd just been making out, they wouldn't be looking so guilty. She wondered if either of them would talk to her about it. Ron probably wouldn't – it probably wasn't his first time, and he had never talked to her about his love life before; to him, she was his kid sister that had to be protected from the harsh facts of real life. She wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Of course she didn't want to talk to him about his love life, and somewhere deep down she thought it was kind of cute hat he cared enough about her to want to protect her like that. But wanting to beat up her boyfriends went too far. He couldn't just interfere in her love life while keeping his own so secret.  
  
"We're going to dinner." Hermione interrupted her thoughts. "You coming?"  
  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
Harry joined them in the Great Hall, noting the dreamy expression on Ron's face.  
  
"You look pretty love-struck there, mate," he said, and grinned.  
  
Ron grinned back.  
  
"I am. I can't believe how lucky I am. I love her so much, it's like every little thing she does is..." He trailed off, looking for the right word.  
  
"Magic?" Harry suggested.  
  
Ron looked at him curiously for a moment. "No shit."  
  
Harry couldn't help but laugh in spite of himself. "Sorry. Didn't mean to offend your intelligence there. It's a Muggle saying."  
  
"Figures," Ron muttered.  
  
Christmas morning dawned cold and white; the first snow of the season had fallen overnight. Ron was the first one awake, and lay in his bed enjoying the calm around him, the stillness broken only by Harry's soft snores.  
  
Half an hour later Hermione came into their dorm. She saw that Harry was still asleep, and quietly added his and Ron's presents to the piles at the ends of their respective beds, before tiptoeing over to Ron to give him a kiss. He pulled her closer to him and she lay down next to him, on top of his covers. He interlocked his hands behind her back, and they were kissing and giggling, and didn't even realize how much noise they were making until:  
  
"Oh come on you two. I can't believe that's the first thing I have to see on Christmas morning!"  
  
Hermione nearly fell out of Ron's bed. Harry was propped up on his elbows, grinning at her. Then his expression changed suddenly, as if someone had hit him with an invisible frying pan.  
  
"You haven't been here all night, have you?"  
  
She grinned mischievously.  
  
"You slept like a baby throughout the entire performance," Ron called out from behind her, and then "Ow!" as Hermione hit him playfully over the head with his pillow.  
  
"I can't believe you haven't opened your presents yet!" Ginny said, coming up the stairs in her pyjamas and carrying a pile of parcels.  
  
"I can't believe it either," Harry told her, and promptly began tearing the wrapping off his presents.  
  
Mrs Weasley had sent them all home-made jumpers and toffee. Harry's jumper was blue, Ginny's was a very pretty shade of green, and Ron's and Hermione's were a matching maroon.  
  
Mrs Weasley had picked out just the right shade, so that it clashed with neither Ron's hair nor Hermione's complexion. ("Hah!"Ron said, "She just couldn't give up on the 'maroon jumper for Ron' thing. It's like a fetish.").  
  
Hagrid had sent each of them a box of Honeydukes sweets, Ron gave Hermione a pretty bracelet, and Remus had sent Harry some very expensive-looking cologne. Hermione caught sight of it, smelled it and passed it to Ginny.  
  
"Wow, this smells really good," she said. "Ickle Harrykins is going to be a girl-magnet. Just don't forget to thank Remus for it, boy." She grinned at him.  
  
"Thanks, Ginny. You really know how to keep me humble."  
  
"That's what I'm here for," she told him, and dodged the pillow he threw at her.  
  
Ginny gave Ron a book about the Chudley Cannons, and Harry a book about Puddlemere United. Ron and Harry gave each other purses made of moke-skin, and laughed out loud when each saw what the other had gotten him.  
  
There were so few students left at Hogwarts that there was only one student's table in the Great Hall, but usually the people from different houses ate at different times, sometimes even skipping meals and going directly to the kitchens. The Christmas feast was the first time that all remaining students were in the hall together, and the first time anyone except Ginny noticed that Malfoy was still at school. Furthermore, his cronies didn't seem to be with him. There were only two other Slytherin students: a sneaky looking third year, and a pretty girl Ginny knew to be a chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team.  
  
Ginny was sitting between Hermione and Harry, both of whom were looking extremely surprised to find Draco sitting at the other end of the table.  
  
"Did you know he was here?" Harry asked Ginny.  
  
"Yeah," she told him. He looked even more shocked. She frowned at his expression, but decided not to say anything.  
  
After they had eaten, everyone started pulling crackers, even, Ginny noticed, Malfoy, although he stuffed his party hat into his pocket. I bet he wouldn't be caught dead wearing one of those, she thought.  
  
His appearance totally contrasted Harry's; Harry had a broad forehead and quite a big nose (which didn't attract attention, due to his glasses, but Ginny had decided it suited him anyway), and his hair was always untidy. Draco's face was narrow and looked like it had been chiselled out of marble. He had high cheekbones, an aquiline nose and no blemishes whatsoever. And his hair was always immaculate, even after a Quidditch match.  
  
She wondered if he was part-veela. That would definitely explain his complexion and hair-colour, which was very light, almost like white gold. But it didn't explain the colour of his eyes. Veela had blue eyes, Ginny was pretty sure of that, but Draco's eyes were platinum-gray. How can someone have eyes that colour, she mused. When she was fighting out one of her verbal battles with him, there were speckles in his eyes, like a snowstorm, and right now they were like slate-coloured glass, and as impenetrable as a Gringott's vault.  
  
She wondered what he was thinking. She could read Harry's face like an open book, knew the matching emotion for every shade of green in his eyes: vivid when he was angry, making it look like a green fire was burning under his lashes; darker when he was moody or sad, and lighter, more bottle-green, like the sun hitting the roof of a dense forest, when he was happy.  
  
Draco's face was unintelligible to her.  
  
Suddenly the awareness of what she was thinking hit her. She scowled. Why do I even care?  
  
Draco was lying on his bed in his dorm, Blaise next to him. They were the only two Sixth Year's left in Slytherin and, even though neither of them would admit it, they were both lonely. She had spent the first evening of the holidays in his dorm, and the next evening, she hadn't left. There wasn't anyone to miss her if she didn't return to her own bed at night.  
  
At first, they had just cuddled up to each other for warmth and comfort, but their bed-sharing hadn't stayed innocent for long.  
  
Now she sat up, looked down at him lying with his hands behind his head, and grinned mischievously. She climbed on top of him and sat just above his knees, running her hands up his thighs. She ran them further up, let them linger for a moment, then started unbuttoning his shirt. He put his hands under her top and smirked at her. She wasn't wearing anything underneath.  
  
She pulled off his unbuttoned shirt, forcing his arms up over his head, then started undoing his trousers. He pulled her down to him, and pressed his mouth down on hers, forcing his tongue through her lips. Their kisses were fierce and deep.  
  
She made a sound between a squeal and a purr as he pushed her off him and down into the pillows, and sat on top of her. He pulled her top up over her head, revealing creamy-white skin.  
  
She was stunned at what he could do to her. He was savagely dominant and infinitely gentle at the same time, more or less gentle depending on his mood, but never gruff. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and it rocked her to her core. He gave her pleasure she hadn't even dreamt of.  
  
He didn't act any differently tonight, but the last of her power of observation told her that part of him was absent. She couldn't put her finger on it, though, so she ignored it.  
  
Draco felt her weight on him, moving his body in time to the beat of their heavy breathing and the contrapuntal rhythm of their hearts. Her eyes were closed, and the only thing he could make out in the dark room was her white skin and flaming hair. The realization of whom he was thinking about hit him so hard it almost winded him. Where the hell did that thought come from? He tried to transfer all energy into his bodily activities and shut down his mind, but he couldn't block out his thoughts, thoughts of a person who was definitely not Blaise.  
  
New Years Eve came, inevitably. Ron and Hermione wanted to 'celebrate' alone, so Harry and Ginny went to the Astronomy Tower to let off some Filibusters Fireworks.  
  
"We're the only ones up here," Harry said. "I wonder where everyone else is – I can't believe they're inside."  
  
We're the only ones up here. The words echoed in Ginny's head. There were still remnants of her crush on Harry in her system, like traces of a drug that had not quite worn off. She had never dated Harry, and by now, most of her feelings for him had gone, or reversed, but her stomach still knotted when she looked into his eyes.  
  
He produced a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey and grinned a Fred-and- George-grin at her.  
  
"We've got to keep warm."  
  
She didn't even ask how he had gotten hold of it. Ginny had scrounged a supply of Butterbeer from the house-elves in the kitchens, and they challenged each other to see who could skull theirs faster. Then came the bottle of Firewhiskey. It was sufficient to make Ginny completely drunk. Her self-control disappeared along with the whiskey and she was completely uninhibited. She was sitting next to him, head on his shoulder and when he put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face towards him, she didn't struggle.  
  
She felt him kissing her before she actually registered what was happening. Then she leaned into the kiss, white-hot fire coursing through her veins. I'm burning, she thought. Every single nerve ending was a thousand times more sensitive to everything around her, in the universe that had narrowed down to Harry and her.  
  
Her skin felt like ice on fire wherever he touched her, and the last of her reason crumbled to dust as she let herself fall backwards, pulling him on top of her and arching her back to mould her body to his. He put an arm under her back and held her there. He ran his tongue around her lips, kissed her eyelids, her forehead and throat, causing her to moan with pleasure. Don't ever stop, she begged silently.  
  
Draco was wandering up the winding staircase leading to the Astronomy Tower. He had left Blaise in the common room. She hadn't been pleased, but he wanted to be alone. He was lost in thought, and almost walked into the couple snogging on the floor of the top of the Astronomy Tower. Oh good lord! he thought. Is that Weasley and Granger? No, it isn't – it's... OH, GOOD LORD.  
  
Draco felt as if his insides were melting. They ran in rivulets down the inside of his stomach, to settle in a heavy puddle where his abdomen had been. It was very unpleasant.  
  
The girl on the floor gave a quiet moan. Draco squirmed. He did not want to be watching this. He had stuff to do. People to meet. Well, maybe not people to meet. But he had to get away from here.  
  
He went back very quickly the way he had come only minutes before, trying very hard not to think about what he had just seen, and failing miserably. His liquefied insides sloshed around unpleasantly every time he thought of that quiet little moan.  
  
What he needed now was chocolate. He had heard somewhere that it was the best remedy for molten insides. There's probably chocolate in the kitchens, he thought. Right. The kitchens it is.  
  
It took him longer than expected to get there, as he had not been watching where he was going, and had walked into a wall. His forehead and nose had taken the brunt of the collision. His eyes had watered, the tears cascading freely down his cheeks, and the pain had been almost unbearable. He had just stood there in shock for two minutes.  
  
The pear hadn't turned into a handle. Well, maybe he had been scratching rather thank tickling it, but a few fingernail marks were no reason to refuse entry, not even for an over-sensitive pear, he thought impatiently. He threw a small tantrum, shouting at the pear and kicking at the wall. He subsequently stubbed his toe. He started hopping around on one foot, feeling incredibly stupid, but the sharp pain that knifed through his foot also seemed to cut through the red fog in his mind.  
  
It occurred to him that he was not being rational, and he managed to calm down enough to tickle the pear without chipping even more paint off it. He finally found himself in the kitchens, surrounded by house-elves waiting to do his bidding, and his mood improved drastically. He barked a few sharp orders, and sat down on one of the tables. The surface around him was soon covered by chocolates, éclairs, tarts and cookies. It felt good to be shouting at the house-elves, even though his anger did not subside completely.  
  
He was caught totally unawares by the echo of a small moan that pierced the silence of his subconscious. He winced, and accidentally shattered the glass he was holding. A drop of deep red spilled over a larger cut and brazenly ran across the surface of his palm.  
  
Great. Now his hand was bleeding, too. This is really the best New Years I've ever had, he muttered quietly to himself.  
  
When he got back to the Slytherin dungeon, he went straight to bed, leaving a very disgruntled Blaise standing outside his door.  
  
But he stayed up late, thinking. The thought of Ginny and Potter together wasn't a nice one. Why Potter? He really couldn't see why she was wasting her time with that arrogant bastard.  
  
Not that it was anything to him.  
  
Ginny woke up the next morning with a hangover the size of Brighton.  
  
"Bloody hell," she said out loud to her empty dorm, but that only made her headache worse. She went back to sleep.  
  
When she woke up again, her headache was slightly better, and she decided to have a glass of pumpkin juice; she wanted to have something in her stomach, even if it was only fluid.  
  
She set out to the Great Hall on wobbly legs and was relieved to find it Harry-free. She would talk to him when his words wouldn't reverberate inside her skull, making her want to throw up.  
  
She poured herself a glass of juice, and lay her head down on the table next to it.  
  
"Hangover?" a voice drawled next to her. Oh no. Not you – not now. She looked into Draco Malfoy's steel-gray eyes . "Yes," she said wearily. He looked surprised, as if he had been expecting something more witty.  
  
"I was expecting something more witty."  
  
"Malfoy, I am not in the mood like you wouldn't believe, so please sod off," she mumbled.  
  
He looked as though he was going to comment on that, when, suddenly:  
  
"I feel sick!" she blurted, and ran to the nearest toilet. He ran after her, into the girls' bathroom on the first floor and found her bent over the toilet in the first cubicle.  
  
"Lord, Weasley, you're going to retch all over your hair," he mumbled to himself, and held it for her. He looked away, looking a lot like he was going to be sick himself, but stood his ground. When she was done, and had rinsed her mouth, she looked at him, grateful but confused.  
  
"Why did you do that?" she asked him.  
  
"I couldn't let you throw up all over your hair. I'll see you around." he said and left, leaving her sitting on the bathroom floor feeling very stupid.  
  
After a while she went back to the Great Hall to get a piece of unbuttered toast and ate it on her way to the library. There, she curled up in an armchair, willing her heaving stomach to not reject the toast, and tried to straighten out her thoughts. She didn't get very far though, before falling soundly asleep.  
  
Someone was shaking her gently. She looked up into Hermione's soft brown eyes.  
  
"Harry's looking for you," the older girl told her.  
  
Ginny shook her head. "I really don't want to see him."  
  
Hermione blinked at her.  
  
"What happened?" she asked.  
  
Ginny told her. Told her about the butterbeer and the whiskey, about the kiss, and about how she had thrown up this morning. The only thing she didn't tell Hermione was Draco holding her hair for her. She had to ponder that for herself first.  
  
"'Moine – I was completely and utterly drunk!" she ended her recitation.  
  
"So you don't have a crush on him anymore?"  
  
"I don't know," Ginny mumbled. "I definitely enjoyed that, you know, last night..." she trailed off. She was fighting an internal battle. She wanted to confide in Hermione, but something inside was telling her to get it sorted out first. She couldn't be sure if Hermione wouldn't tell Harry, and Ginny would rather he heard it from her. Also, admitting she didn't like Harry anymore might lead to questions about why not, and who the object of her affection was now. Those were questions she wasn't prepared to answer.  
  
Still, it was hard to catch Hermione alone these days, so this was a chance she probably wouldn't get again very soon. And it couldn't hurt to tell her at least a little bit of what she was feeling, could it?  
  
"You know," she continued, "I've been in love with Harry since I was ten years old. I've put those feelings aside as best I could, and I think they'll always be there. But," she added with vehemence, "It's something I've learned to live with. It's like a constant pain I've gotten used to. But if he's suddenly decided he wants to go out with me, and I convince myself he loves me and it doesn't work out, then I'd rather just leave it the way it is. I think that his actions were caused by alcohol, and frankly, I don't need my bruised heart broken. I'm scared of the way he can hurt me." She looked at Hermione with pleading eyes, willing her to understand.  
  
Hermione sighed and nodded, obviously not realising that Ginny had not told her the whole truth.  
  
Ginny was grateful when she left. 


	5. Patronum Lacrima Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5  
  
It was New Year's Day, and Harry was lying on his bed, lost in thought. He hadn't told Ron what was bothering him. He had asked Hermione to find Ginny for him, because judging by the look she had given him as she passed him in the corridor earlier, she did not want to talk to him. He thought she might tell Hermione what was on her mind. Then he could ask Hermione what Ginny had said. Piece of cake.  
  
At least Harry knew Hermione would react rationally to whatever Ginny had to say – he was sure Ron wouldn't be so calm. Ron was totally insane where Ginny was concerned. Harry knew that Ron took 'taking care of his little sister' seriously, all the Weasley boys did. That was one reason why Ginny never told Ron about her boyfriends. He found out sometimes, but Harry was fairly sure Ron didn't know half of what Ginny did when she wasn't under his watchful eye.  
  
Harry also knew that Ron would murder him if he heard the words, "Ginny and me, a lot of alcohol, snogging on top of the Astronomy Tower," no matter what Ron himself had been doing during that time. He shrugged mentally. He wasn't telling Ron, that was for sure.  
  
Then he wondered if Hermione had found Ginny. Ginny – oh lord. What the bloody hell had gotten into him last night? Harry couldn't stop thinking about her the way he had the night before. He doubted he'd ever be able to go back to the old way of thinking about her again It was as if his eyes had been opened and he had seen her differently than ever before: not as Ron's little sister, or as someone he called his friend but wasn't really close with, but for what she was: one of the most beautiful girls in school, and dead sexy.  
  
Her flaming hair had fallen around her pale face, and she had been shivering from the cold; the look of her had made something inside him melt. The way a few stray tendrils of fire had blown in the wind and the way her eyes flickered up at him through her lashes. Her expression, her gaze that held so much insecurity yet a sense of strength he couldn't deny even had he wanted to. He wanted to hold her, warm her; just touch her, and his hormones, fueled by alcohol, had taken over.  
  
Her eyes had widened, but she hadn't made any move to stop him. Her lack of resistance hadn't helped, either. Goddammit, Ginny! he thought. Now what have I gotten myself into?  
  
It was already dusk by the time Ginny got out of her armchair in the library. Hermione had left hours ago, to talk to Harry. Ginny was feeling claustrophobic, which was unusual for her; she liked cozy rooms and small spaces, and hated the cold. But right now, she needed to go outside; there wasn't enough air in the stuffy library.  
  
It had just snowed, making the grounds glow eerily in the twilight. She didn't know where she was going, she just wanted to get as far away from everybody as possible.  
  
Away from Ron. She loved Ron, he was her favourite brother, and she could talk to him about anything, except anything that had to do with her and boys. He definitely wasn't going to be a big help on this count. The worst thing she could do would be to tell him about it, causing a fight between him and Harry on top of everything else.  
  
Away from Hermione, with her sympathetic glances. She doesn't know half of what's going on inside me, Ginny thought.  
  
And away from Harry. Those three had always been a tight-knit circle, and no one else had been able to enter their little world.  
  
She had been so jealous.  
  
She had always had a gift of perception, and it was intensified when she was watching Ron or Harry, the two people who were most important to her. She knew Harry had been in love with Hermione, just as she knew Hermione had had feelings for both of them, but had always loved Ron just that little bit more. She was pretty sure she had realized this even before Hermione had, and when she and Ron had started dating, Ginny had been not at all surprised. The only thing that surprised her was how long it had taken for them to get together.  
  
By the time Ron and Hermione had started going out, Harry was over his crush on her. Ginny had thought their little world would come crashing down around their ears, jealousy, envy and chagrin causing it to crumble. Then she would have been there to console Harry.  
  
But she had been wrong. Harry had given up on Hermione in fifth year, and Ginny had felt him slip away from her. He took absolutely no notice of her, not even now that he was emotionally available. She had felt something inside her crumble as the awareness dawned on her that he would never love her. A light went off behind her eyes, like a switch being flipped in her head, and no one had noticed. Not even Ron.  
  
The boys she had been out with had each been a small consolation, all of them good-looking and popular; she knew she could have practically any boy she wanted. But none of them had managed to fill the hole that gaped in her soul. She was like an apple that had been left on the tree too long; flawless on the outside, but her core was rotten. She didn't think anyone would ever be able to make up for what he had done to her, not even he himself, and the furry toy that shared her bed had often felt her silent sobs as she cried herself to sleep at night.  
  
She had felt something change in Harry's attitude towards her last night. She was pretty sure that his reaction had not just been caused by alcohol, like she had told Hermione. But she would never be able to have a relationship with Harry. Not anymore. She loved and hated him at the same time. The feelings resided in a far corner of her mind, but seeing love directed at her in Harry's eyes and thinking about what could have been between them would just bring the pain back.  
  
Another thing she had lied to Hermione about: her heart hadn't just been bruised. It had been broken clean through.  
  
Draco got up and shook snow off himself like a wet dog. Not very elegant, he thought mirthlessly. If only my father knew. There were quite a lot of things his father didn't know about him, or so he thought.  
  
He had gone outside to be alone. He took the letter he had received at the Halloween feast from his pocket. His father had sent it with Davent, his raven, and it had been tied with a silver-and-black braided ribbon. His father liked to make an entrance, even when he wasn't bodily present. What a dramatist, Draco thought contemptuously. He unfolded the letter and reread it.  
  
You will not be coming home for Christmas. Important things are happening here and I can't have you spoiling them. You will understand in time. (Signed) Lucius Malfoy.  
  
That was it. How impersonal could he get? He hadn't even headed it with 'Dear Draco', or written 'from your father,' Screw him.  
  
Draco wondered why he wasn't allowed to witness whatever was going on at the mansion. He had been privy to Death Eater meetings before, when hare- brained schemes to kill Harry had been devised. He definitely wouldn't spoil those; he hated Harry probably as much as Voldemort did.  
  
Which didn't mean that he planned on becoming a Death Eater when he was old enough; he hated Voldemort probably just as much as Harry did. How weird, to have something in common with the two people he hated most.  
  
Why he hated Harry was obvious; it was the way he had been raised, one of the foundations of his very existence. Before he had gotten on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, Draco had envisioned playing best friend to Harry, then bringing him to Malfoy Mansion where the Death Eaters would be waiting for him. In his mind's eye he saw his father telling him how well he had done, and how proud he was of him. In his fantasies, it was so easy: Harry Potter who been raised with muggles, who didn't know anything about the wizarding world. He was only a legend to most people. A myth, basically. No one would miss him.  
  
Then they had met on the school train, and Harry had told him, Draco, to sod off. It had been like a slap in the face. It was then that Draco's acquired hate had stopped being something he had taken in with his mother's milk, had taken for granted, and turned into a living emotion, thriving on Harry's shows of arrogance and feigned benevolence.  
  
Voldemort he hated because of what he had done to his father. Lucius had told Draco about the Dark Lord, all-powerful, who would return to reward those who were faithful and punish those who were not. The stories had fascinated Draco as a small child, but as he grew older, he had come to despise Voldemort, although a few lessons learned the hard way ensured that he never showed his feelings for his father's master. Lucius was Voldemort's lap dog, and Voldemort exploited his unwavering loyalty-cum- stupidity mercilessly.  
  
Draco had admired his father, and looked up to him for his composure and self-confidence; seeing him grovel to Voldemort filled Draco with contempt for Lucius and white-hot rage for the Dark Lord.  
  
I am never going to grovel to anyone like that, he thought. I wonder if my father knows I'm a traitor. Maybe that's why he's keeping me away from home. That's probably the reason Blaise is here too, he figured. Blaise shared his feelings towards Voldemort, and it was often a topic of discussion when they were alone.  
  
No one would have called them 'good' in the classic sense of the word, but had any of Voldemort's supporters ever listened to their private discussions, the two of them would have been marked as traitors, and disowned from their families, or even killed. Neither of them wanted to risk that, at least not yet. Their coming-out would be forced on them soon enough.  
  
Draco started as a shadow fell on him. It was Ginny Weasley.  
  
The moon was low, and threw elongated shadows over the white grounds. She was walking a small distance away, and hadn't seen his dark form huddled at the base of a large tree.  
  
Without thinking, he called out.  
  
"Weasley!" He knew immediately that it had probably been a mistake, but he couldn't take his words back now.  
  
She jumped. She looked around, and he waited patiently as she scanned the area. Then her eyes rested on him.  
  
"What do you want, Malfoy?" she called.  
  
"Company," he called back. Even at this distance, he saw her eyes widen in surprise.  
  
She walked over to him slowly, and eyed him warily. He could tell she was sizing him up, wondering why he had called to her. He was wondering himself.  
  
"I'm not in the mood," she told him.  
  
"I've been hearing that a lot from you lately."  
  
"Listen – thanks for this morning..." she started, but didn't continue, like she did not know what else to say. She looked half ready to run, half curious about what he had to say.  
  
She stayed where she was.  
  
"Was it only the alcohol that made you retch?" he asked her. "Or was it more than that? Waking up next to someone you don't remember allowing into your bed isn't always a nice experience even if it is Ha–"  
  
"Malfoy, are you following me?" she said in a voice deadly quiet. He tried to not let it get to him.  
  
"I'm not. The Astronomy Tower doesn't actually belong to you, you know – it is, indeed, quite public."  
  
She grimaced.  
  
"I woke up alone."  
  
"Doesn't mean you went to bed alone," he said. He decided to see how far he could push her; it was, after all, his specialty.  
  
"I wasn't that drunk," she said, annoyed.  
  
"So you didn't want to? And here's little old me thinking you still love him." He met her gaze. She looked steadily back, but he could see the emotion in her eyes, even though she was struggling to keep it hidden.  
  
"It's not your business." She started to walk away.  
  
"Sure it isn't. So do you?" he asked.  
  
She stopped, but didn't turn around. He knew she didn't want him to see her inner turmoil.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"I know."  
  
Her shoulders tensed, her arms went rigid and her fists clenched. He was sure she would turn around to hit him any second. She had amazing self- control, but he was sure one more cutting remark would break it.  
  
"Although you looked pretty sure last night,"  
  
She spun around.  
  
"How long were you watching for?" she snapped.  
  
"Long enough," he told her and flashed her a smile that looked like a travesty of Lockhart's; bright, cheery... and false. She looked at him long and hard.  
  
"If it's any condolence: I left after you just about steam-rolled me. And you can stop glaring at me," he said, sounding slightly bored.  
  
"I am so not in the mood for this," she said, exasperated. "I'll see you around – unfortunately..." And she stalked off.  
  
"Do people tell you that you're pretty when you smile? Hell to that – you're so sexy when you're angry!" he called after her. He wasn't sure what had possessed him. It had been the first thing that came to his mind when trying to think of something to say that would make her stay.  
  
She spun around. Again.  
  
"Come again?"  
  
He rolled his eyes, trying to maintain the appearance of being in control.  
  
"Is that the only thing girls respond to? Remarks about their appearance?" he drawled, sounding like he was truly contemplating the matter. "Although, you know you're pretty – it should be below you to fish for compliments."  
  
"But I've never heard it from you." She looked confused, like she was wondering why she had just said that. And so she should be. He was wondering himself.  
  
Then she grinned.  
  
"I tell you you're sexy when you're angry, so you grin – to be contrary?" he suggested.  
  
"Not hardly."  
  
"Then what's funny?"  
  
"Nothing. Malfoy, listen –" but he cut her short.  
  
He was still sitting in front of her, and he pulled her forward by her hips and into his lap. She clung to his shoulders out of sheer reflex, and he wrapped his arms around her.  
  
He kissed her. She tensed only for a second before kissing him back with an astounding passion. He hadn't really expected her to return the kiss, and was rather pleased. It was he who drew back first.  
  
"Woah," she said, more to herself than to him, sounding somewhat dazed. "What was that about?"  
  
"Not sure really. Seemed like a good thing to do."  
  
She leveled a gaze at him. "Screw you, Malfoy." she said, as she got up and stalked off.  
  
"Was it something I said?" he called after her, but this time, she didn't turn around.  
  
Walking up to the Gryffindor common room, Ginny suddenly realized how she must look; coming back in the evening after no one had seen her all day, covered in snow. She brushed off her robes, praying no one would see her like this.  
  
The common room was thankfully empty, except for a solitary first-year she didn't know. Ginny sat in front of the grate and stared into the flames. She needed to sort her thoughts and feelings. Lord, what a snogfest it's been, she thought, as she reflected upon the holidays. She knew she needed to talk to Harry, although she didn't want to, and although she didn't exactly want to talk to Draco, she would have given anything to know what he had been thinking.  
  
And what the hell was I thinking? He can't possibly have a crush on me. Can he? No way! So what was he doing? And what was I doing? I don't even like him. I have totally lost my self-control.  
  
She didn't want to admit to herself how much she had enjoyed lying in his arms. He was much stronger than one would have assumed on seeing his slight build. It had shocked her at first, and she had been a little scared, lying so helplessly in his lap. He could have mercilessly taken advantage of her.  
  
No, wait. He did mercilessly take advantage of me. How silly of me to forget.  
  
The kiss had been so bloody intoxicating. She had closed her eyes as he kissed her, red and white lightning dancing across her inner lids. The kiss had been slow, yet she had been almost swept off her feet by the wave of passion behind it. Malfoy's tongue had explored her mouth in a fashion completely different to Harry's; he was forceful – no scratch that. Not forceful; demanding. Gentle, but demanding in a manner that left no room for disagreement. Not that she had disagreed...  
  
She hadn't realized she had been kissing him back until he pulled away from her, and then she had been just short of grabbing him and pressing her lips down on his again.  
  
He would have loved that, she thought. She could just imagine his taunting voice. Not even the lowbred Weasley can resist my charm. Or something equally horrible and... true. Well, not the lowbred bit. But she didn't want to think about how much she had enjoyed the kiss.  
  
The memory of it would make her stomach knot up for weeks.  
  
Harry was alone in his dorm when Ginny found him. She coughed twice, whether to settle her nerves or announce her presence, he wasn't sure. She seemed extremely edgy.  
  
"I, uh, think we should talk, Harry," she said. He moved over, and she sat on the end of his bed. He hoped he would finally be able to summon up his courage and tell her how his feelings towards her had changed because of the night before, up on the Astronomy Tower. She had obviously overcome her discomfort of talking to him about what had happened, well, then so could he.  
  
"Look, Ginny, that was really..." he trailed off, unsure of how to continue. He was at a loss for words. He wanted to tell her that she had sparked feelings in him that he never knew he had for her, that he was sorry he hadn't realized before, and that it had only taken one kiss to make him see it, and ask her if she still loved him.  
  
The matter was taken out of his hands.  
  
"Harry – we were both dead drunk. It's not an excuse for what we did, but let it suffice as one. I don't need an apology from you, I just want to put this behind me."  
  
"Uh, ok, if that's what you want," he said, slowly. Idiot, he thought. You idiot! Tell her! Say something!  
  
"Yeah, I think it's the best way." She looked up at him. "See you around, Harry."  
  
Although he was struggling not to let his shock and disappointment show, he looked as if somebody had slapped him. She left, turning away from the hurt in his eyes, and he just barely mastered the urge to smash something.  
  
He watched her go, not quite believing that she had just walked out on him.  
  
Draco and Blaise did not continue their relationship after school recommenced. Both of them had enough other things and people to keep them occupied: theirs had been a temporary relationship born from loneliness and physical attraction rather than love, and there had been an unspoken agreement that it would not last. Neither of them told anyone what had happened in the holidays, rather more because the topic didn't arise than that they wanted to conceal it, but neither of them felt the urge to talk to anyone about it.  
  
Draco found himself thinking about Ginny. A lot. He didn't volunteer this information to anyone, but that didn't change the fact. He went out of her way, trying to avoid a confrontation because he knew he wouldn't be able to taut her. He watched her inconspicuously from the Slytherin table at mealtimes, and noticed she never sat next to Harry anymore. He did notice how Harry looked at her, though, and it made him mad. The stupid git's realized he loves her after all, he thought with contempt.  
  
Draco had an amazing sense of observation. It was one of the things that made him so competent in pushing people's buttons. He could tell when he had struck a soft spot by the look in their eyes, or when they were getting mad by their actions, he knew when to continue or when to back down, and how to wind someone up.  
  
The only actions whose meanings eluded him were Ginny's. He could not tell what she was thinking or feeling, not anymore. She had found a way to shut herself off to him, and it irritated him extremely. 


End file.
